


Tell Me When You're Sober

by imightbejehan



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Kinda, M/M, drunk!jean, he just gets drunk and shares his feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-03
Updated: 2013-12-03
Packaged: 2018-01-03 08:05:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1068050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imightbejehan/pseuds/imightbejehan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a fight Jean drunkenly stumbles into Marco's house, bloodied and bruised, and with something to say.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tell Me When You're Sober

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WishingForMagics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WishingForMagics/gifts).



> my friend is a little shit who sent me headcanons about jean and marco so obviously i had to write a fic
> 
> i can't write drunk people (ive only ever been tipsy) but i tried and thats what counts right guys??

            They had gotten in a fight earlier that day. Christmas Eve day of all times Jean had to go piss Marco off.

            Marco was just tense about Jean spending Christmas with his family the next day, but the other boy didn’t know that. Their banter wouldn’t have normally affected the freckled boy, but Jean was coming over to his house tomorrow.

            Jean his best friend, Jean the pickiest boy Marco knew, Jean who didn’t know Marco was in love with him and was going to find out on Christmas day.

            But they just had to fight. Marco couldn’t even remember what it was about, but he remembered to look on Jean’s face when he finally snapped at him, and the hurt in his eyes right before he walked away.

            Now he was up in his room, picking up the clothes on his floor because he wanted to believe Jean was still coming in the morning. Marco’s parents were out to dinner, and though they had invited him Marco knew they really just wanted to be alone. It meant that he could get the house to his liking with his parents and the maid gone, but it also meant that no one knew Jean wasn’t going to show up.

            Marco’s parents had been so excited. They were finally about to meet the boy their son had not shut up about for months, the boy who seemed to like Marco for Marco and not just his social status.

            His hands were trembling as he picked up a shirt off the floor to throw it in the hamper. It was Jean’s. He had let him borrow it when Marco had gone to Jean’s house after a football game to dry off.

            Marco had told his limo driver to pick him up at nine, but the game had been rained out at seven thirty so Jean, being the amazing person that he is, invited Marco over for some video games. He had never been to Jean’s house, much less that part of town. It had been dirty: the siding needed to be painted, the lawn mowed, and the rooms vacuumed, but Jean’s room had been spotless. Marco always imagined him messy like the way he dressed and styled his hair, but after seeing the way his aunt and uncle left the house Marco understood.

            Jean had lent him a Rolling Stones tee and sweats, with the reason that since Marco was sitting in his chairs, the boy had to be dry. Marco couldn’t refuse him of course, it was Jean’s way of showing that he cared.

            The sweat pants had been returned the next day, but the shirt stayed with Marco. He had readied an excuse about having to wash it, but Jean never asked.

            Now Marco threw the shirt in the corner, a little reminiscent anger flowing through him but not enough to throw the shirt away.

            The doorbell rang before he could continue any more.

            “Coming!” Marco screamed down the stairs. The person at the door either didn’t hear, or didn’t care, because know they held their finger against it. He sighed when he got to the door, mentally preparing himself for a prank, and through the door open to-

            -Jean.

            The boy stumbled in and onto Marco, smearing blood all over his shirt. The smell of alcohol in his breath was overwhelming as he mumbled Marco’s name.

            “Jean! Jean what are you doing here?” Marco propped the boy up on a nearby chair, grabbing his two-toned hair so Jean would look him in the eyes.

            One eye was swelling, already turning black and blue, the other was welling up with tears.

            “Marcooo! I’m so glad you came!” Jean slurred.

            “You’re at my house. Why did _you_ come?”

            “Ooohh, you’re right! You’re so smart Marcoo.”

            “Thanks, but why are you here? Not that I don’t mind!” Marco added when Jean started to look dejected.

             “I miss you, Marcoo! I didn’t want to wait ‘til tomorrow, I have something very important to tell you!” Jean nodded with all the serious of his normal self, but with doe eyes that Marco could never take serious.

            “Wait, you were still planning on coming tomorrow? I-I thought-”

            “Of course silly Marcooo! I wouldn’t wanna miss a date with you!”

            Marco was blushing now, but he knew he needed his wits about him so he could patch up his best friend. “Come on big boy, let’s go clean you up.”

            Jean let Marco drag him to the nearest bathroom, but didn’t stop babbling. “Oohh but you didn’t think it was a date!”

            Jean giggled as Marco sat him down on the toilet seat so he could use both hands to rummage for the first aid kit.

            “That’s because you don’t want it to be a date,” Marco mumbled.

            “Silly Marcoo’s wrong!” Jean sang, shaking his head and giggling more. Marco whipped his head around to ask what he meant, but had to catch his friend before he fell off the toilet. He set about the task of cleaning the wounds around Jean’s eyes and forehead before responding.

            “What do you mean I’m wrong?” Marco ran the towel he was using under the faucet to rid of some blood, listening to Jean grumble about how it stung.

            “Marcoo doesn’t want to date me,” Jean pouted.

            “And who told you that?” Marco crouched in front of him again, dabbing at the cuts as gently as he could though Jean still winced.

            “Marcoo.”

            It took Marco a moment to realize that was his answer, not just Jean complaining.

            “Just friends right?”

            “Ju-just friends.”

            “Knew it! Too good for me.”

            “What are you talking about, Jean? You’re wonderful!” Marco sat back on the cold tile now, trying to take in what his friend was saying.

            “Noppee. Too kind. Too smart. Too caring.” Jean wasn’t looking at him now, but instead played with the bracelet on his wrist that Marco had given him for his birthday. His voice got more serious as he continued. “I mess things up, and I mess up our friendship, but you always come back. Marcoo always comes back, and I never want to be without you. You’re a piece of shit.”

            Marco laughed through his tears because even drunk Jean was the same as his Jean.

            “I know you don’t love me, but it’s hard to pretend now. Too hard. Need to know that I love you!” Jean jumped on top of Marco, trying to hug him but just threw him to the floor.

Marco’s brain was in overdrive. _Jean? Loved him?_ But somehow he managed to crawl out from underneath the shorter boy and haul him up to his bedroom. Once there, Marco tucked the boy under the sheets. Both their eyes were damp, but Marco focused on wiping away Jean’s drunken tears.

“Marcoo doesn’t love mee,” he whined.

“Hush,” Marco gently closed the boy’s eyelids with his fingers, “We’ll talk in the morning. You don’t want to say anything more that you’ll regret in the morning. And we’re gonna talk about those scrapes mister.”

The only response was a slight whimper that trailed off into a snore.

When Marco saw that Jean was officially asleep he crept downstairs and quietly unlocked the liquor cabinet, He knew he didn’t have to be so quiet; his parents weren’t home yet, but he was anyways.

He brought just the bottle of vodka upstairs with him, knowing his parents wouldn’t miss it, and sat in his window seat counting the stars and the swigs he took.

 

 

            The sun burned his eyes, and he hadn’t even opened them yet. Marco reached up to cover the sun, but instead ended up dumping water all over himself. Wait, not water, vodka.

            Events of the night before came back to him. The slurring Jean, the love confessions, and then his own decision to get piss poor drunk that didn’t last long after he realized it was Christmas the next day and he needed to be actually functioning.

            Marco turned his head towards his bed and forced his eyes open, knowing the headache would pass sometime.

            Jean was there sprawled out, half in and half outside the covers, drool pooling on the pillow, and hair sticking up in all directions. Marco had only seen him like this a few times when they had sleep overs, and it wasn’t strange for Jean to take up a whole full sized bed.

            Marco finally sat up, rubbing a hand over his face, making sure it wasn’t the one still clutching the vodka bottle. He stared down at it, unsure of where to hide it. His parents would be awake so he couldn’t just sneak down and put it back, but Marco also didn’t have the top so he couldn’t seal it up and hide it. He resorted to dumping it down the sink and hiding the bottle in the back of his closet underneath some dirty gym shorts.

            He went downstairs then, hoping to get some pain pills and toast for when Jean woke up. Marco had dealt with his friend being drunk quite a bit, so he knew how to handle a hungover Jean. Marco managed a horse hello to his parents in the living room on his way back upstairs. He knew he should have told them that Jean was over, but his head hurt to much to come up with a plausible excuse for him being over.

            Jean was in relatively the same position when he returned. Marco found it cute, but if he had to suffer his headache Jean was going to have to suffer too. It was his fault after all.

            “Up and at ‘em, big boy.” Macro shook his friend gently until Jean huffed and rolled towards him, eyes still closed.

            “Oh fuck it hurts. Shiiittt.”

Marco was surprised Jean could even form sentences considering how trashed he was the night before.

“It better hurt. Maybe you won’t be so reckless again! What even happened, Jean?”

Jean peeked at Marco through half open eyes before closing them again and turning away.

“You know me,” was his reply.

“Yes I do, but that doesn’t mean I understand you.” Marco poked Jean’s side, causing him to laugh but then moan in pain. “Oh yeah! I almost forgot I brought you some medicine, but you have to promise to tell me what happened to you if I give it to you.”

“Oh god I’ll do anything!”

“Okay, now shoot,” Marco stated after handing over the Advil.

“I just- I was really mad. I needed to take it out on someone, or more like take it out on myself. I was really stupid yesterday, I’m sorry for pissing you off Marco. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness but you’re probably the best thing that has happened to me in a really long time and I just can’t lose you. Please, I’m sorry I’m such an asshole but I promise to change if-”

“I don’t want you to change, Jean.”

He looked up at Marco now, his eyes slightly watery and wide with surprise.

“But-”

“If I didn’t like the real Jean I wouldn’t have been friends with him in the first place. Trust me, I had plenty of excuses to leave you; I just don’t want to.”

They stared into each other’s eyes for a moment before Jean broke the silence with a small, sad laugh.

“Jesus Marco. I show up on your doorstep bloodied after we have a huge fight, and you don’t even care. Fucking typical.” Marco was hurt by Jean’s angry tone, but he felt that it wasn’t really directed at him but instead Jean himself. “You are too kind for your own good.”

_“Too kind. Too smart. Too caring.”_

“Jean,” Marco suddenly said, “do you remember anything you said last night?”

“Um no. Shit was it really embarrassing?”

“Well, you told me you loved me.”

Jean paled visibly. “Fuck Marco. I-I didn’t mean it. You know drunk rambling!”

“Okay.”

“I mean, I love you as a friend man. My _best_ friend and I don’t want you to think-” Jean broke off as Marco’s lips smashed against his.

He was too surprised at first to kiss back, but right as Marco started to pull away he grabbed the taller boy’s neck and crushed him against himself. It wasn’t graceful, it was sloppy and rushed and filled with everything they had been too afraid to say.

They finally pulled apart when there was no air left. Jean was dazed, mouth slightly ajar as he stared up at his best friend who smiled down at him.

“I was going to tell you today,” Marco explained. “I guess you beat me to it.”

“Holy shit. You-you like _me_?”

“Of course I do Jean. You are everything to me.”

 

They stayed in bed until Marco’s parents came looking for him. Soft kisses were planted on every inch of skin available; there was no hurry anymore now. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it! If you have any suggestions/see mistakes hit me up!
> 
> You can also share JeanMarco headcanons with me on tumblr because they are my favorite and I can't stop writing them!
> 
> http://imightbejehan.tumblr.com/


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